


call it magic

by rocketshiptospace



Series: Jimon Week 2017 [4]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Haunted Kitchen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketshiptospace/pseuds/rocketshiptospace
Summary: The cutting boards are at it again. Or, well, they are fine for most of the morning, until Jace comes in and they start circling around his middle like they’re trying to sacrifice him to the food gods. Or something. At least they aren’t chanting anything.“Just one normal day,” Jace says, “Just one day I want to come in here and be like ‘Hi Simon, here’s your delivery!’ and that’s it. Just once.”“You and me both,” Maia says, eyeing one of the cutting boards currently circling Jace. It’s holding a half chopped tomato she had been working on.“It’s charming,” Simon says, with the voice of someone who has had to repeat that exact phrase way too many times. “It adds character.”Or, Simon owns a sandwich shop with a haunted kitchen. Jace delivers his bread.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this idea came to me in a class about operational managment, when we were discussing processes and how processes had transitioning and transitioned parts and someone was like "yeah but like a pan is a pan. it doesn't change." and then my brain was like "what if it does tho" and spend the rest of the class thinking about magical kitchens that fuck with you and well. now this fic exists.
> 
> anyway i originally wanted to write this for food day of jimon week but i literally came up with this the day beforehand and clearly did not finish in time. oh well, call this a late admission.

In his life time, Simon has surely made some questionable choices. He once ate a crayon, because it actually looked kind of really tasty (it wasn’t). One time climbed a tree to impress a boy (he broke his wrist. The boy was not impressed). He studied to become an accountant, before he realized he actually kind of really hated math.

His most questionable choice to this day, however, is buying a sandwich shop with a haunted kitchen. When the realtor told him of the hauntings at the time, he’d brushed it off. He thought it was kind of cool, actually.

Right now, as two of his cutting boards are hovering somewhere near the ceiling, freshly chopped onions and bell pepper still on them, he’s starting to seriously question that line of thought.

“It’s not that bad,” Maia says, eyeing the cutting board that’s holding the bell peppers and is currently circling around one of the kitchen lamps. “At least they aren’t doing that rodeo thing they did last week. The tomatoes were _everywhere_.”

Simon sighs, wondering if he can get the cutting boards down with a broom, or if they’re just going to have to wait until they start behaving themselves again. “What time is it?” He asks.

“Nine,” Maia says. “Most of the prep is finished, though. We really only needed the onions and the bell peppers.” They both glance at the ceiling again. The cutting boards are currently playing bumper cars. Some onions spills over the side of one of them, and Simon winces when it hits the floor. They don’t open until ten, and it only really starts getting busy at twelve, during lunch, so they still have plenty of time to fix it, but still. It does set things back a little.

“Okay,” Simon says, “You go grab another cutting board, see if that one doesn’t float off. I’m going to properly set up the prep station in front. Can you tell me when Jace gets here? I want to pre slice at least some of the bread.”

Maia wiggles her eyebrows at him. Jace works at the bakery only a block over from their sandwich shop, and supplies most of their bread. Maia, along with the rest of the staff, seem convinced Simon has a crush on him. Which is _ridiculous_. If anything, Simon mostly just wants to punch Jace in his strikingly handsome face a lot.

Simon flips Maia off, and disappears towards the front. He’s only been working for fifteen minutes, when Clary appears in front of him. “Morning!” She says cheerily.

“Morning,” Simon says, smiling at his best friend. Clary and him have known each other forever, and decided to start up the sandwich shop together. She works behind the counter, partly because that’s what she’s best at, and partly because the knives are scared of her and hide under the oven every time she enters the kitchen.

“How’s it going?” She asks, taking off her coat and disappearing into the small office to ditch it along with her bag.

Simon hums, “The cutting boards are acting up.”

Clary appears again, eyebrows raised, “Are they now.”

“Yup,” Simon says, “Two of them are floating near the ceiling, along with some freshly chopped onions and bell peppers. We haven’t really figured out why, yet. Or how to get them down. It’s been a process.”

Clary huffs out a laugh. “Never a dull day,” she says. The phrase has barely left her mouth, when they hear a high pitched scream from the back. Never a dull day, indeed.

\--

The high pitched scream turned out to be Maia’s, who had yelled out in surprise more than actual fear or pain when the cutting boards at once decided to come back down to earth by literally just torpedoing themselves towards the counter, narrowly missing hitting Maia in the face. Somehow, all the vegetables are still intact.

“You okay?” Simon asks Maia, quickly wiping the onions and bell peppers off the cutting board and into containers.

Maia nods. “Don’t worry about me. It was nothing like the oven incident of two months ago.”

Simon shudders and moves to the containers to the front. “Hush, Maia. You know we don’t talk about that.”

Suddenly they hear a door open and close somewhere in the back, and Simon pauses to see who it is. A voice yells out, “Is it safe to come in?” and Simon rolls his eyes.

“Our kitchen is haunted, Jace, not possessed!” He shouts.

“You tell that to the spatula that whacked me in the face the other day,” Jace says, appearing in the kitchen. He’s wearing one of the company’s t-shirts, ‘Nephilim Bakery’ neatly printed on the front, although Simon’s pretty sure it’s a size too small. A t-shirt should _not_ stretch across someone’s forearms like that. Not that Jace’s forearms are normal to begin with, but still. It’s unfair. Jace is smirking at him, the bastard, and Simon wills himself not to chuck a container with bell pepper at his head.

“I’m sure you deserved it,” Simon informs him cheerily instead of causing bodily harm. “You got my delivery? We’re opening in half an hour.” Which is his subtle way of saying _‘You’re late_ ’.

Jace rolls his eyes at him. “No, Simon, I came here for you _wonderful_ company. Yes, of course I’ve got your delivery. Could use your help, though.”

 “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Simon says, placing the containers with vegetables on the nearest counter. He follows Jace out back, pointedly ignoring Maia, who’s humming ‘Can You Feel The Love Tonight’, under her breath.

\--

So far, the kitchen’s hauntings seem pretty random. It isn’t neciserally really influenced by any emotions, or the weather, or the day of the week. It has a few distinct and repetitive quirks, like the knives hiding under the oven every time Clary walked in, or the cutting boards acting up at least once a week, or the fridge that makes a humming noise that sounds an awful lot like Lady Gaga’s ‘Bad Romance’. Other than that, the kitchen mostly just does whatever the fuck it wants at random intervals.

But recently, Simon’s pretty sure the hauntings have started to develop an actual pattern. A collective goal, one might say. And that goal was, unfortunately, to get both Simon and Jace in increasingly awkward and life threatening situations.

It all starts a week after the ceiling cutting board incident, when Simon’s chopping up some spring onions early in the morning. He’s alone in the kitchen, because it’s Monday, and Monday’s usually aren’t really that busy, so he’s fine handling prep on his own. Simon’s softly humming along with the fridge, when Jace enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, Simon,” Jace says, and nearly gets impaled by a vegetable knife, that shoots out of Simon’s hand and wedges himself into the wood right next to Jace’s face.

“What the fuck,” Jace says, at the same time Simon says, “Well, that’s new.”

“Your kitchen is actually actively going to kill me one of these days,” Jace says, trying to sound nonchalant, but his eyes are nervously flitting around the room. “Please tell me all the other knives are tucked away somewhere safe. You know, somewhere where they can’t fucking _impale me upon sight_.”

“Don’t worry, they’re all in the drawer,” Simon says, gesturing at a drawer that is rattling suspiciously. “And I’m sorry about this one. I don’t know what got into him,” he continues, walking over to Jace and trying to wedge the knife out of the wood. It’s _very_ stuck.

Jace huffs, “You’re his owner. He was possibly trying to make a desperate attempt at escape. Or murder me. Honestly, with you, both are plausible.”

“I don’t hate you _that_ much,” Simon says, still trying to wiggle the knife free. It seems rather stubborn about not moving.

“Just admit it, Simon, you only love me for my buns!” Jace yells, as he leaves the kitchen, hopefully to get Simon’s delivery. Although Simon wouldn’t blame him for getting the fuck out of here. The kitchen did basically just try to murder him, after all.

Jace leaves, and the knives quiet down. They don’t try to impale anyone else for the rest of the day, or the next day, when Jace brings by his delivery again. The knife that wedged itself into the doorframe appears to be there to stay, however, as none of them seem capable of getting it out. Oh, well. Just another thing he can add to the long list of quirks this kitchen has.

\--

The cutting boards are at it again. Or, well, they are fine for most of the morning, until Jace comes in and they start circling around his middle like they’re trying to sacrifice him to the food gods. Or something. At least they aren’t chanting anything.

“Just one normal day,” Jace says, “Just one day I want to come in here and be like ‘Hi Simon, here’s your delivery!’ and that’s it. Just _once_.”

“You and me both,” Maia says, eyeing one of the cutting boards currently circling Jace. It’s holding a half chopped tomato she had been working on.

“It’s _charming_ ,” Simon says, with the voice of someone who has had to repeat that exact phrase way too many times. “It adds character.”

Jace huffs, “It delays my deliveries, that’s what it does. Now can you _please_ get your cutting boards to stop doing their sacrificial dance, or whatever the fuck this is, and help me unload the bread from the truck?”

Simon pulls a face, “About that…”

“ _What,_ Lewis.” Jace sounds very exasperated.

“The cutting boards usually just do whatever the fuck they want,” Maia informs Jace cheerily. “So unless you’re like, a ghost whisperer, or a ‘whatever the fuck is haunting this kitchen’ whisperer, no luck of getting those boards to do what you want them to do.”

“You can always try asking nicely,” Simon offers.

Jace lets out a long suffering sigh. “Please leave me alone?” He asks the cutting boards. In response, the cutting boards speed up slightly. Jace glares at Simon, like it’s all his fault. It probably is, for setting up his sandwich shop up here in the first place.

“Look,” Simon says, taking a step closer to Jace. Whatever he was going to say to reassure Jace dies in his throat, however, when one of the cutting boards gently floats back to the counter. “You have _got_ to be kidding me,” Simon says, and takes another step. Another cutting board flies back to its previous position.

Jace looks utterly confused as Simon comes closer and closer, and Maia is laughing so hard Simon’s pretty sure she’s going to die from lack of oxygen. When Simon is in front of Jace, all the cutting boards have gone back to their previous positions, and Jace is free to go wherever he wants.

However, both of them find themselves frozen in place. They’ve never been this closer, really, not on purpose at least, and never for this long, and Simon finds himself admiring the way Jace’s eyelashes fan over his cheeks, or how his lips look _really soft_. “Right,” Jace eventually says. “That seems to have done the trick.” And then he promptly turns around and leaves the kitchen.

Simon knows he’s supposed to follow him, help him out with getting the delivery inside, but he finds himself just standing there, in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the spot Jace just vacanted. “Fuck,” he whispers. Behind him, Maia cackles with glee.

\--

“He’s _pretty_ ,” Simon whines, falling down in one of the chairs they have in the front of the store. Usually they’re for the customers, but there really aren’t any customers right now. “Like, I noticed he was hot, right? I mean, how can you not. But I never really realized he’s _pretty_ too. Like, so pretty.”

Clary looks way too amused by all of this. “So what you’re saying is you want to kiss him? Marry him? Love him forever and ever?”

Simon wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no, gross.” Clary gives him a look. He sighs. “Okay, maybe like, a little. But whatever, he’s not into me, so I’ll just like, pine for a bit and then get over it. Or something.”

“Solid plan,” Clary says, “Or you could ask him on a date.”

“Ha!” Simon says, “No.”

“Why not? The worst he could say is no.” Clary starts wiping down the counter. Simon glares at her.

“ _Exactly_. And who is going to deliver my bread then? His buns are the best, Clary. Both the bread and the body type. I can’t do without him. We _need_ him.”

“What we need is for you to stop being so pathetic!” Maia yells from the back.

Simon ignores her. “It’s fine. It’s not that it’s like, a thing, or anything. I just think he’s attractive, and _pretty_ , and that’s it. I’m not like, actually in love with him. I don’t like, want to take him on dates where we like, I don’t know, go to dinner first and then we go for a walk and go to a park and watch the stars for a bit and then he brings me home and kisses me softly before saying goodbye, like. That’s not what I want.”

Clary sends him a look. Simon lets his head drop down on the table with a loud thud. “Fuck,” he tells the table, “That’s totally what I want.”

\--

It’s fine, this new found interest in Jace. It’s no big deal, really. Or at least it wouldn’t be, if Simon had a normal kitchen. Which, unfortunately, he doesn’t.

A day later, he’s standing in their walk-in fridge, doing inventory, when Jace suddenly appears right behind him.

“Hello,” Jace says, startling Simon so badly he drops the papers he was holding. They scatter all over the floor.

“ _Fuck_ , Jace, can you like, not do that.” Simon glares at him as he goes to pick up his papers. Jace doesn’t help, just frowns at him.

“It’s cold in here,” he says, stating the obvious.

Simon rolls his eyes. “We’re in a _fridge_ , genius.” He collects the last few of the papers and shuffles them around. The order is fucked now. Not that Simon’s inventory system had ever been neat or organized, but still. “Also, you literally _do not_ have to be here. Just go grab the deliveries, I’ll help you out in a second,” Simon adds, waving dismissively in Jace’s direction as he continues to shuffle through the papers.

“Aye aye, captain!” Jace says, rather mockingly, and turns to leave. There’s a silence, some shuffling, and then, “Uh, Simon? I can’t get the fridge door to open.”

It would be totally logical for the door to just be jammed. Or maybe Jace isn’t doing it right. There’s enough _logical_ explanations for why the door isn’t opening. But Simon knows his kitchen well enough to know that it isn’t _any_ of these things. “I’m moving,” he informs Jace, and then sits down on a box in the corner of the fridge.

“ _Great_ idea. Preferably very far away from me,” Jace says, and wiggles the door again. He turns to Simon, and frowns when he sees him sitting down. “Are you just going to give up? You do realize we could potentially freeze to death in here.”

Simon shrugs, “The kitchen does what the kitchen wants. I’m hoping that I’ve been good enough to it that it won’t actually kill me.”

“This is fucking _ridiculous_ ,” Jace says, kicking at the fridge door, “Why do you just accept this crap? Why did you even move here? Why the _fuck_ would you open a sandwich shop in a place that has a haunted kitchen? It doesn’t make _sense_.” Simon opens his mouth, and Jace points angrily at him, “And don’t give me that crap about thinking it’s charming, or quirky, or that it give ‘character’, because we both know that isn’t true.”

There’s a really long silence, and then Simon finally says, “No one wanted it.”

“What?” Jace looks confused, like that was not the answer he was expecting. He probably wasn’t. He was probably expecting another snappy come back, like Simon would’ve normally done. But right now, Simon is locked in a fridge, he’s cold, he’s tired, and he doesn’t really feel like arguing.

So he shrugs. “No one wanted it,” he repeats. “And I know how that feels. So I bought it.”

“Oh,” Jace says, and he falls down on the box next to Simon’s. “When I was in freshman year I was really scrawny, and someone locked me in a locker, and I was stuck there for three hours. I swore after that never to be overpowered like that again,” he says then.

Simon hums. He’s not sure what is happening, but he decides it’s best just to roll with it. “When I was a kid, I broke my mom’s favorite vase, and blamed it on my sister. My mom believed me, and to this day she still doesn’t know it was actually me. I still feel bad, but I don’t know how to come clean about it. I’ve never told anyone.”

“I’m scared of mice,” Jace offers in return. “We have them at the bakery sometimes, and it’s the _worst_. Izzy, that’s my sister, is the only one that knows, so she always covers for me by acting like _she’s_ the one who’s afraid of mice. She isn’t. I’m pretty sure she isn’t afraid of anything.”

“I always fall in love with people that will never love me back,” Simon says, pointedly staring at the wall in front of him.

Jace hums. “I always fall in love with people I don’t deserve.”

Simon’s head swivels around, indignant, and he’s about to tell Jace that that is ridiculous, that he’s beautiful and amazing and that anyone would be _lucky_ to have him, when the door of the fridge swings open.

“Oh, thank god,” Jace says, and immediately runs out of the fridge. Simon follows him, slowly. It isn’t until he’s outside that he realizes how cold he really was. Somehow, with Jace there, it hadn’t really mattered.

\--

It all comes to a head, a week later. Ever since the fridge incident, as Simon likes to refer to it, the kitchen has continued to act up in Jace’s presence. Nothing neciserally life threatening happens, but Jace does nearly get hit in the face with a frying pan, and then there’s the thing with the teaspoons.

However, none of those things are as bad as what happens on Friday. All Jace does is walk in, place a hand on Simon’s shoulder to let him know he’s there, and suddenly the stove is on fire.

Since they had both been standing rather close to the stove, they nearly get scorched in the process, but manage to duck away at the last second. Simon hurriedly grabs one of the _many_ fire extinguishers then own, thanks to previous stove and oven incidents. The second he points it at the stove, ready to put it out, the fire suddenly disappears completely and it is like nothing ever happened.

“That’s it,” Jace says, when him and Simon have been staring at the stove for a while, in pure confusion. “That’s it, I’m done. I can’t take any more of this crap.” He steps back, careful not to turn his back to the kitchen, like he doesn’t quite trust it not to kill him on his way out. “This is getting ridiculous, Simon. I know you’re not my biggest fan, but this is. This is absurd. I’m leaving.”

The _‘And I’m not coming back_ ’. Hangs unspoken between them. Simon stares at the door he disappeared through for a long time, trying to figure out what happened. Eventually, he gives up, and goes to the front to talk to Clary.

\--

“I think the kitchen just like, wants me to be alone forever,” Simon says to Clary and Maia the next day, the three of them sitting at a table in the front. They’re done with prep, but the shop doesn’t open for another hour, so they’re just waiting for their bread to be delivered. Simon wonders if Jace will show up. He doesn’t think he will.

Maia snorts. “That’s ridiculous. The kitchen loves you.”

“Loves me? What are you even talking about?” Simon pulls a face.

“Simon,” Clary says, “You do realize that like, the kitchen does ridiculous shit, yes, but never things that neciserally inconvenience _you_? Like, the knives hide under the oven whenever I walk into the kitchen, the fridge literally refuses to open every time Maia tries, and neither of us can touch a frying pan without it immediately trying to hit us in the face. You don’t have anything like that.”

Simon looks skeptical. “Okay, but then why did it literally _ruin_ any chance of a relationship with Jace? Like, it literally tried to kill him so many times I’m pretty sure he’s never coming back.”

“You know, I don’t think the kitchen was trying to kill him,” Maia says, and Simon send her a confused look.

“I told you about the oven incident, didn’t I? And the knives? And the fridge? And the sacrificial cutting boards and the fucking _frying pan_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Maia says, waving her hands around. “But it’s like. I’ve been working in this kitchen for a really long time, now, and I don’t think it was trying to kill Jace. Like, I’ve seen the shit this kitchen can do. If it wanted to kill Jace, Jace would be dead by now. No, I think the kitchen was trying to _tell you_ something.”

Simon snorts. “That I want to kill Jace? Yeah, no, quite the opposite, really.”

Maia makes a frustrated kind of noise, “No, Simon, listen. The knives, right? The knives literally hide under the oven when Clary comes in. But they actively sought out Jace. By nearly impaling him, yes, but I refer to my earlier point by saying if the kitchen wanted Jace dead he would be. And the cutting boards, they only stopped when you got closer to Jace. And the fridge locked you in there, but let you go when you two shared what you call ‘sappy stuff’. So it’s like. I’m pretty sure the kitchen is trying to get you two together. It’s just really, _really_ shit at it.”

“Oh my god,” Simon says, as its starts dawning on him, “Why is this my life.”

“Never a dull moment, with you,” Clary says, rather cheerily. Simon gives her the finger.

\--

The knowledge that his kitchen had, poorly, been trying to set him and Jace up doesn’t change the fact that it achieved the opposite. So instead of Jace, it is now Alec, his brother, who delivers the bread in the morning. Albeit being just as attractive, he’s a lot less willing to put up with Simon’s shit. Or his kitchen’s shit. Every time he comes into the kitchen, he merely glances at the weird shit that is inevitably going on, and then continues to do his job. It’s both refreshing and disappointing. Simon just wants Jace back, really.

The problem is, he doesn’t really know _how_. Or at least, that is, until Izzy pays him a visit.

“So _you’re_ the Simon I’ve heard so much about,” She says, as she steps into the kitchen.

“Only good things, I hope?” Simon asks.

She shrugs, “Depends on if you’re listening to Jace or Alec.”

“Jace,” Simon says, “He hasn’t been around for a while. Is he okay?”

“He’s moping,” Izzy says, leaning against one of the counters. “He seems convinced your kitchen is out to kill him, and since it’s _your_ kitchen, you basically want him dead, too.”

“I, _what_?!” Simon stares at her, incredulous. “No, I, no! The kitchen is just. It’s _really bad_ at match making but it’s not! _No_.”

“Right,” Izzy says, “I have no idea what you mean by that, but my advice?” She smiles at him and gives him a card. “Fix it.”

Simon watches her disappear and then looks down at the card. It’s Nephilim Bakery’s business card, their address circled. Simon knows where the bakery is, he’s been there before, but he knows that’s not what this card is about. This is a direct invite, a challenge, a way to fix things.

Or, at least, a way to talk things out. With Jace.

Simon determinedly shoves the card in his pocket, grabs his coat, and heads for the door. On his way there, he nearly runs into Maia. “I’m… going to fix some things,” he says. Although he doesn’t specify what, or how, Maia seems to know anyway.

“Go get him!” She yells after him, as he disappears out the door. He wants to yell back ‘I’ll try!’ but the door is already falling shut behind him.

\--

“My kitchen doesn’t want to kill you,” is the first thing Simon says when he walks into Nephilim Bakery and spots Jace behind the counter.

Jace blinks at him, clearly confused, but then a mask drops over his face. He’s strangely detached when he says “Are you sure? Because it was not really giving me that vibe, like, _at all_.”

“No!” Simon says, flailing a little, “No, no it’s just _really_ bad at match making!”

“Really bad at-“ Jace sighs, “Simon, I don’t have time for your bullshit right now, okay? I’m busy.” The bakery is completely empty. “Can you just. Please just leave.”

“I can’t,” Simon says, stubbornly, “Not until you accept that my kitchen wasn’t actually trying to kill you, but trying to tell me that you were like, my match made in heaven!” When Jace doesn’t say anything, Simon rambles on. “You see, the knife, the knife wasn’t trying to kill you, it was a _metaphor_! It’s like, when Clary comes in they hide, I don’t know if you knew that, but they do. But then you! You come in and they _actively seek you out_. They’re trying to tell me that you’re like, the one for me you know? Because I used to have a crush on Clary, oh I don’t think I told you that, but yeah I used to have this _massive_ crush on Clary, but the knives hide from her because she’s not the one I’m meant to be with, you are!”

Jace looks skeptical, but at least he’s listening right now. “And, and the cutting boards, well fuck, they’ve always been weird, I don’t really have an explanation for that, but the fridge! The fridge just wanted us to like, bond I guess? I mean, the fridge probably thinks Lady Gaga’s ‘Bad Romance’ is a great example of love, seeing it’s humming it all the time, so really it’s not really a great judge of character, but it _tries_. Did you know the fridge hates Maia? He really does. And the frying pan! The frying pan tries to knock out anyway that touches it but it _avoided you._ I mean it hurtled at you with alarming speed, but it didn’t hit you! The first time it came at Maia like that she had a black eye for _weeks_. _”_

Simon, who realizes nothing he’s saying is probably making sense, takes a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say is, I like you. I really do. And these past few weeks, I guess my kitchen has been trying to help me out, it’s just really bad at it. Just like me, really. But yeah. That’s just. The kitchen doesn’t hate you, and neither do I. Quite the opposite, really.”

“Oh,” Jace says, “Uh.” He pulls a face. “So you like, want to date me?”

“Yeah,” Simon says. Jace looks even more conflicted at that. “But you clearly don’t want to date me, so that’s like. I can take a hint. I won’t. I won’t bother you anymore. I just wanted to tell you. That my kitchen doesn’t hate you, I mean. So, yeah. Okay. I’m going to go, now.”

Jace doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with wide, unbelieving eyes. Simon, who refuses to let his pride be squashed any further into the ground, turns around, and walks away. On his way back to the sandwich shop, he wills himself not to cry. That would just be pathetic.

\--

He’s not moping, per se. Like, maybe he’s moping _a little_. But he thinks that it’s fair, seeing as the guy he was crushing on pretty much just rejected him.

The problem is that _the kitchen appears to be moping with him_.

Or, well. The kitchen isn’t doing _anything_ , which is strange for the kitchen. There are no incidents with the cutting boards all week, the knives stay in their place when Clary enters the room, the fridge, who has stopped humming Lady Gaga, opens immediately when Maia tries to open it, and the frying pan hasn’t tried to hit anyone in the face for _days_.

“I never thought I would say this,” Maia says on the sixth day, “But I really miss the wackiness. It’s almost _boring_ without it.”

Clary, who’s leaning against one of the counters, taking full advantage of the fact that the knives actually stay in their place when she is in the kitchen now, nods. “Yeah, it’s like. It feels dead in here. _Lifeless_. I don’t like it.”

“Honestly,” Simon says, incredulous, “First you do nothing but complain about how weird the kitchen is, and then it finally stops being weird, and then suddenly it’s _quiet_.”

“Well, turns out you were right all along,” Maia says, shrugging. “It adds charm to the place. Gives it character.”

Clary bounds over to where Simon is cutting bell peppers, and steals a piece. “Enough about the kitchen, though, how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine,” Simon says, through gritted teeth. Maia and Clary exchange a look.

Clary places a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You know you can always talk to us, right?” She asks, and Simon nods.

“I know. I know, I’m just, _I’m fine_. I’m coping, it’s fine.”

“Can you say you’re fine one more time? I don’t quite believe it yet,” Maia says, jokingly.

Simon glares at her. When he goes to open his mouth to speak, however, a door in the back swings open. All three turn to see Jace stumble in.

Jace is a mess. His hair is disheveled, his shirt is stained with flour and other condiments, and he looks tired, sad, confused. “Simon,” he says, the second he spots him. “Simon, I am _so sorry_.”

Simon can see Maia and Clary slip out of the kitchen out of the corner of his eye, but he can’t seem to find it in him to thank them for giving him privacy, too focused on Jace and the fact that he’s _here_. “Jace, I, what? Why are you sorry?”

Jace winces. “For the. You gave that _whole speech_ and I just stood there, like an idiot. I’m sorry, I should’ve-“

“It’s fine,” Simon says, cutting him off. “If you’re here to let me down gently, I don’t want to hear it. I got it loud and clear the first time, thank you very much.”

“I, Simon, _no_ ,” Jace says, sounding distressed, “I didn’t.” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “I like you, too.”

“What,” Simon says. He blinks, and then again. “ _What_.”

“I’m uh, not very good at this whole feelings thing, you know. But remember in the fridge, when I told you I always fall in love with people I don’t deserve? I was talking about _you,_ Simon. And I had just accepted that I was right, and that it was never going to happen between us, that you hated me, and then you showed up in the bakery with that speech and I just. I didn’t know what to _do_.” Jace looks at the floor, the ceiling, the walls, anywhere to avoid looking at Simon.

“ _Jace_ ,” Simon says, “Jace are you _kidding me_? Anyone would be _lucky_ to have you.” He takes a step closer to Jace, and Jace doesn’t take a step back.

“Yeah, yeah Izzy said something like that,” Jace says, letting out a short laugh, finally looking at Simon. “She also told me I was an idiot, which is mostly why I’m here.”

Simon shrugs. “She’s not wrong,” he says, soft smile playing at his lips. He takes another step closer. “So, you like me, huh?”

“Simon, god, _yes_. How could I not? You’re funny, and cute, and your kitchen is _mental_ , but it’s also very you and just. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Simon says. He’s in front of Jace now, close enough that he can take Jace’s face in his hands. “I like you, too.” He adds, because even though he’s pretty sure Jace knows, it’s always nice to hear it confirmed once more.

“Cool,” Jace says, and then they’re kissing.

(It takes Simon a while to notice, but when he does, he can’t help but pull away from the kiss with a laugh. Every single kitchen appliance they own is softly floating around them, like weirdly shaped confetti. From the doorway to the front, Maia and Clary are giving him a thumbs up. Simon laughs, again, delighted, and then pulls Jace in for another kiss.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> folow me on tumblr [here](http://aleclwb.tumblr.com) :)


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